


When Push comes to Pull

by LightofEvolution



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Head Boy Draco Malfoy, Head Girl Hermione Granger, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Potion Mishap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-14
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:01:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27561163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LightofEvolution/pseuds/LightofEvolution
Summary: When Head Girl Hermione Granger and Head Boy Draco Malfoy collide due to their own stubbornness, there are some interesting side-effects. Nothing that can't be solved with a bit of research, right?
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 132
Kudos: 196





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to my long due Sounds Like Dramione piece. I was so proud I finally signed up to a comp, but then I had to drop out because I didn't write fast enough and life was 2020. I still haven't made my writing challenge of 2020 come true and wrote for a comp, duh.
> 
> My beta, niffizzle, worked very hard on this. I can't properly express my gratitude for not only making this readable (you wouldn't believe the number of mistakes possible in seven chapters - spoiler alert, the number is higher than 700 *hangs head in shame*) but also being so unbelievably supportive. The same credit goes to the entirety of my little nerd group!
> 
> I don't make any money with this and no copyright infringement is intended. Finally, thank you to the SLD staff for being so understanding!

SLD prompt: 

"Come-come on, now, follow my lead.

I'm in love with the shape of you.

We push and pull like a magnet do."

Ed Sheeran, Shape of You

“It can’t be that difficult to put your broom away, Malfoy!” 

“I put it exactly where I wanted it!” A scowl.

“In the middle of the living room where you knew I would trip over it?” she asked, accusing. 

“Yes! Because that’s exactly where you placed your books last week. I had to get my broken nose healed because of your carelessness.” 

“It’s not  _ my _ fault you decided to come back high from whatever party and stumbled over them.” 

“I wasn’t high; I was drunk! That’s vastly different. And at least  _ I  _ brought you to the Infirmary today after you started screaming like a banshee!” 

“That’s enough, you two!” Madame Pomfrey stepped in, pausing her inspection of the damage on Hermione’s arm. 

“I am starting to believe _ Minerva _ was either high or drunk when she decided to make you two Head Boy and Girl,” she mumbled under her breath but loud enough for MalfoyDraco and Hermione to hear. “Now hold this compress to Miss Granger’s elbow, Mister Malfoy. I need to retrieve my wand.”

The two young adults spent the time until Pomfrey returned in silence, glaring at each other angrily. 

The older witch healed the deep rash with a pronounced flourish of her wand. “Now hurry off. I believe you are about to be late for your afternoon classes.”

Hermione all but jumped from the stretcher, cursing under her breath. During her dash to the door, she nearly ran Malfoy over. 

_ “Witch,” _ he hissed, also scrambling to leave. 

Throwing a glance behind her back, Hermione saw Malfoy hasting after her. 

“Don’t you dare make me late for class,” she threatened.

“Wouldn’t dream of it. So stop stalling. I won’t be late because of you.” He then settled into a sprint. With his longer legs, he effortlessly overtook her. 

How Hermione hated running. It was either a sign of a dangerous situation or bad preparation — and she detested both. Still, she fell into a run, aiming to arrive in the Potions classroom at the same time as her fellow Head. 

* * *

For about an hour, Hermione worked on her potion in deep concentration. The class had been assigned to developing their own recipe, and so far, it went splendidly for her. Just a bit of powdered honey bees, and it would be perfect. 

But the path to the ingredients wasn’t free.

His eyes on his own potion, Malfoy claimed the space in front of the ingredient shelves the same moments as Hermione.

“Let me pass. I need to add licorice roots to mine,” he snarled. 

“Such a pity, but I need something, too.” Hermione put her free hand on her hip, her stance firm. 

“I don’t have time for that, Granger. My potion is in a precarious state, and any delay in adding the licorice roots could result in a destabilisation.” He eyed his Erlenmeyer flask, maintaining a steady swirling motion. 

“Is that so?” she asked, knowing fully well he wouldn’t lie about that. It was more for the sake of being stubborn. 

His eyes left his potion to glare at her. “Yes, and you know that. Now move your pretty bum out of my way!” 

“Why should I?” she snapped. “My potion is just as important as yours.” 

They stared at each other, neither of them willing to let the other take the lead and get first access to the ingredient shelf. 

After what seemed like a better part of an eternity, Hermione squared her shoulders and stepped forward. Unfortunately, that was the exact moment Malfoy decided to do the same. 

The result was a hefty collison. The impact of a tall wizard was something she could take, but then she heard glass shattering and, looking down, saw colourful liquid seeping into the fabric of her robes. 

“Fuck!” Apparently, Malfoy hadn’t gotten away unscathed either. “You ruined my potion!” 

“I ruined  _ your _ potion? You ruined  _ mine _ ! You could have just let me go first.” 

The two of them standing in front of the shelves, doused in a mixture of their potion projects, finally gained some attention. While they had kept their spat relatively quiet before, they were now yelling at each other. 

“You egoistic, selfish prat!” 

“Who is selfish here,  _ hm? _ You, you simple-minded—” 

“That’s  _ enough _ .” Snape had stepped behind them. His voice hadn’t fully recovered from his war injury, but it was as sharp as ever. 

“Professor, he—” 

“But she—” 

They started squabbling again, but a wandlessly hissed, “ _ Silencio! _ ” muted them.

“You are adults now, so behave as such. Get your act together, clean up this mess, and come back after dinner.” Hermione scowled, but Snape wouldn’t have it. “You will repeat your potion work from scratch tonight. Both of you, at the same time. And you  _ will behave _ .” 

With his robes billowing behind him, Snape returned towards his desk. And while the confrontation had provided some entertainment for the rest of the Advanced Potions class, they now returned to their own work. 

Suddenly, Hermione felt idiotic. She was Head Girl — not to mention a recipient of the Order of Merlin — and yet she had been involved in an absolutely silly fight. Looking at her opponent, Malfoy seemed equally remorseful. 

That was, until his gaze found hers and he stuck his tongue out. Rolling her eyes, Hermione summoned some rags to clean up their combined potion mix and threw one of them at Malfoy’s face. 

Snape was right. She was a grown up witch. 

Still, something about the blond wizard made her lose her composure on a regular basis. And now she had to spend her evening with him. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the wonderful reviews and for your support.
> 
> Beta love, hugs, and kisses to niffizzle for making this better. A LOT better <3

She arrived in the dungeons in a pretty grumpy mood after dinner. Malfoy was already there, cutting valerian roots for his potion. He acknowledged her presence with a curt nod. 

“Where is Snape?” she asked without greeting. 

“Left a few minutes ago. Said he trusted our abilities enough to leave us alone here. Had to oversee Detention for some fourth years tonight. He will check on our results.” Malfoy resumed his cutting. 

Hermione chose a workspace far away from him, hoping she could ignore him when her back was turned. To add to that, she pulled her MP3 player and her headphones from her bag. It had taken some messing with the technology and use of experimental charms, but Hermione had gotten the music player to work on Hogwarts grounds. She turned the volume on high and started on her potion. 

By the third song, she was in her own world, concentrated and focused. Music, while a distraction for many, had always helped her learning. Just when she was transferring the St. John’s Wort powder into her cauldron, a hand touched her shoulder.

Reflexively, she spun around, hand raised in defense or attack if need be. Though, the motion took an unexpected direction: after registering it was Malfoy, she felt a pull, like a magnetic force, that catapulted her into him — the same second he made a mirroring movement. They collided into each other front to front. 

“Granger, for fuck’s sake! What the hell?” 

“Me? Why are you pulling at me?” She tried to wriggle herself free, but the hold he had on her was too strong. “Let me go!” Her voice was shrill, but she hated being confined. 

“I am not doing anything!” he yelled, and through her almost panic, Hermione saw his arm waving in front of her eyes. A quick turn of the head told her that the other also was not holding her.

Hermione’s mind worked to understand the situation. “What is happening?” 

“How should I know?” came Malfoy’s clipped response. “I simply wanted to ask you to stop your distracting humming, but with those things in your ears—” 

“Headphones.” 

“— _ Things _ in your ears you didn’t hear me.” 

Hermione blinked. “I hummed?” 

“Yes, you did. Loudly.” 

She had the impulse to apologise. Hermione knew she was very good in many things, but holding a tune wasn’t one of them. 

Malfoy’s futile try to push her away brought her back to their present situation.. 

“Ouch, you brute!” She wanted to rub her shoulder where Malfoy had shoved her, but she couldn’t reach it. Instead, she poked him in the ribs. Malfoy made a surprised noise, almost a squeal. 

“What did you do before you interrupted me so rudely?” Hermione asked. 

Malfoy sneered. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” 

She suppressed the urge to stomp on his foot. With them being plastered to one another, that could very well mean he would lose his balance, pulling her down with him. 

“Obviously,” she hissed, growing irritated by his lack of help. “Something caused this, and chances are that it is something one or both of us did.” 

Malfoy glanced at his workspace, frowned, then glared back at Hermione. “I was calculating the relation of valerian and yarrow for my potion.” 

She pondered his words. . “That can’t be it. While that’s an unusual combination for a potion, in that early stage, it’s about as dangerous as a cup of tea. I just transferred powder into my cauldron.” 

“I saw that,” Malfoy said, craning his neck to peer at her unfinished potion. “St. John’s Wort?” 

“Mhm.” she hummed. 

“Nothing potent yet, either.” 

Hermione shook her head forcefully, resulting in a half-sneeze from her ‘lab partner.’ 

“What?” She lifted her gaze to look him in the eye, almost a full head higher than her. 

Malfoy’s sneer was back. “Your hair is tickling my nose.” 

She shook her head again, and Malfoy growled. The sound was so indignant, she started laughing. 

“You are not helping,” he muttered, even more indignant, and Hermione could feel the rumble of his words in his chest against her cheek. She hadn’t noticed the height difference between them this afternoon when they had crashed into him.

_ “Uh-oh.”  _

“Uh-oh?” Malfoy inquired.

“Very much so,” Hermione said, the puzzle pieces starting to fit together in her brain. “Remember our little run-in this afternoon?” 

Malfoy lifted an eyebrow. “You mean the one that brought us here?” 

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Yes, that one. When I came back to my room, I had to change my uniform because the potions had seeped through the fabric.” 

“Mine too. But that means—” Malfoy groaned. “ _ Fuck. _ ”

“Don’t swear,” she chastised. 

“I will swear as much as I want to, Granger. And this is definitely swear-worthy. Basically, we combined two potions.” 

She nodded. “Something Snape continually warns us not to do, even with well-known ones. And ours were experimental and probably unstable.”

Someone behind them clapped. Somehow, Hermione and Malfoy both turned to the source of the sound. 

“An interesting outcome. Not entirely surprising, but definitely exciting to observe.” Snape glanced his two pupils up and down, sending a shiver down Hermione’s spine. She did not like the intrigue in Snape’s voice. “I will help you. This time.” 

He muttered something under his breath and set them free. Hermione stumbled backwards, as did Malfoy.

“What kind of spell was that?” Malfoy asked.

“None you are going to find in  _ any _ book.” 

“Tell us.” Hermione all but stomped on the floor. 

“No.” Snape grinned almost diabolically. “You are pushing and pulling against and towards each other, acting stubborn and irresponsible when ít concerns the other person. I guess it is time to finally teach you two a lesson.” 

Snape left the dungeon classroom with a flurry of his robe.

Hermione stepped away from her fellow Head Boy, too conscious of the sudden lack of warmth that his body had provided. 

“Why did Snape choose this moment to become a thoughtful teacher?” she remarked, annoyed. 

“That’s all you have to say on the matter?” Malfoy shot back. “Don’t you realise that he suspects this incident to repeat itself? He wanted to teach us a lesson by not telling us what incantation he used. That’s only going to teach us a lesson if...”

“If he expects this to be a recurring curse. And we have to find the resolution on our own.” Hermione groaned. “Arsehole.” 

“Don’t swear, Granger.” He smirked. “You’re insulting a Hogwarts Professor. Since when do you do that?” 

“When I think about it, I have a history of that.” With a very satisfying feeling, Hermione saw Malfoy’s face adapt to a curious expression. “But none of them owed me their lives, quite the opposite really.” 

It was immediately apparent how much he wanted to know the meaning behind her comment but didn’t want to admit it. 

“That isn’t how a life debt works, and you know that.” 

She shrugged. Of course he was right. And he knew that she knew. Maybe that was why her words sounded like cutting glass. “What I know is that we need to work on a solution to our problem. Are you going to help me or am I doing this alone?” 

“Are you even capable of actually working with someone?” came his flippant answer. “I am my own person and not one of your compliant minions.” 

That struck a nerve. In all her years in the magical world, she had always taken the reigns when it came to her academic career or personal affairs. If the situation called for it, she dedicated herself to the cause, mostly Harry’s in the past. But only rarely, she had allowed someone else to take the lead or work on an adjacent level with her. 

Knowing Malfoy itched for an answer, she winked at him and smirked grimly, hoping it was as challenging as intended. “I am going to start the research tomorrow. With or without you.” 

  
  



	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time for another update! And time to say thank you for allowing me to be a part of this fandom!
> 
> Endless beta love to niffizzle!

The next morning came and went, and Hermione found herself amiss of any progress by the time she sat down for lunch in the Great Hall. 

Despite the house system softening, the eighth years had a habit of still sitting at their house tables. One simply didn’t give up their seat at the table. 

However, today, Pansy Parkinson wriggled herself between Harry and Ron. In the past months, she had developed quite the habit of doing that, and no one stiffened anymore at her sudden appearance. “What are your plans for the evening? It’s Friday, after all.” 

When the three of them shrugged, Pansy rolled her eyes. “Let me make an educated guess. Potter and Weasley want to fly around the Quidditch Pitch, whereas Granger has an exciting date with the library books.” Another shrug. “Don’t you want to tag along? Most of us are going to the Three Broomsticks.” She turned to Ron and trailed one of her perfectly manicured hands over his biceps. “Come on. These muscles don’t need more training. They are huge already.” 

Ron almost spit out a part of the sausage he had been chewing before he remembered how to swallow. 

Hermione suppressed a laugh at yet another of Pansy’s tries to wrap Ron around her finger. “Does ‘most of us’ include Malfoy?”

“No. Theo tried to talk him into coming, but he wants to work on his Seeker skills.” 

“Maybe it’s a good idea to socialise a bit,” Hermione admitted. Without Malfoy there, the Three Broomsticks could even be fun. And it would certainly distract her from the non-existent progress in her research.

Yet, it wasn’t in Hermione’s cards to enjoy a Malfoy-free evening. He showed up an hour late, right after she had just emptied her second glass of Firewhisky and was waiting at the bar for another.

Malfoy sauntered over to her. Or rather: he approached the bar and rolled his eyes when their eyes met. The blond wizard didn’t let her be but instead walked up beside her. 

When the bartender handed her the drink, he spoke up.

“Odgen’s, Granger? Really?”

She took a sip, already starting to feel comfortably tipsy. “Yes, Malfoy. Odgen’s.”

“You clearly haven’t developed a finer taste for that beverage.”

Hermione gulped down the rest of it, glaring at Malfoy while doing so. “Which, naturally, you did.”

“I did.” He smirked. “And you will, too.” Malfoy gestured for the bartender.

Hermione felt her anger rising. Was he really trying to show off his experience with expensive contraband? Lucius and his stash — the stuff of legends among the Slytherin eighth years — be damned. 

Just when Malfoy lifted his head to probably order something to rub under her nose, Hermione felt a pull again. Before she could swear or react in any other way, she felt herself being rapidly attached to him. 

“What—” the seemingly oblivious Malfoy said, trying to push her away.

“Oh no. It’s like in the dungeons,” she harshly whispered, trying to keep her voice low. 

Malfoy’s eyes widened. “Fuck.”

For once, she didn’t disapprove of his choice of language. After all, she was plastered to him, front to front, as if she were hugging him. 

“What are we going to do?” he muttered, more to himself.

“For starters, we should get out of here.” She wasn’t keen on being caught in what must seem like a very long hug to everyone else. There would be questions she couldn’t exactly answer.

Malfoy nodded, almost butting her head in the process. Together, they made an exit that hopefully didn’t catch anyone’s attention. 

Hermione had left her cardigan over her chair inside the pub, and when she felt the cool wind outside hitting her body, she immediately started to shiver. 

“Are you cold?” Malfoy asked. It sounded genuine. 

“Yes, but I can’t reach my wand.” Her arms were glued to Malfoy’s ribs, so casting a Warming Charm with it wasn’t really in the cards. She considered trying it wandlessly, but then she felt him reaching for the back pocket of her jeans for her wand. 

An irrational fear flooded her veins — a surge of panic that came with a former adversary taking control of her wand — even though the realisation hit a second later that Malfoy wouldn’t do her any real harm. Not anymore. 

“Hey!” she voiced, nevertheless. After all, grabbing another person’s wand was a rude thing to do.

“Sorry, Granger.” He cast a Warming Charm on her before putting the wand back. 

It must have looked like he was feeling her up, for a bypasser shouted, “Merlin, get a room!” not very friendly before entering the pub. A heat flushed Hermione’s cheeks when it occurred to her that she knew that voice. 

“How rude. Who was that?” Malfoy’s — considering the situation — misplaced aristocratic drawl made Hermione snigger. 

“Michael Corner. He tried to invite me to a date a few weeks ago.” 

Malfoy grinned, and the light from inside the pub illuminated his mischievously glinting grey eyes. Hermione could very well imagine by that glint alone that many witches and wizards would want to be in her place right now, closely wrapped around Draco Malfoy. 

But she wasn’t. 

“Michael Corner? The Ravenclaw?” Malfoy scrunched his forehead. “Why didn’t you say yes?” 

“Because he dated Ginny a few years back, and the image of him slobbering her face is stuck in my brain,” she felt compelled to explain. 

Malfoy raised an eyebrow. “But you have no problem with Pansy having an inexplicable crush on your ex?” 

Merlin, were all Slytherins such gossip girls? Yet, Malfoy’s intrigued question was reasonable. 

“I love Ron, but he and I were a bad idea. It was fun while it lasted, though.” 

Before Malfoy could add a question, she tactfully changed topics. “Where do you keep your wand, by the way?” 

“Strapped to my forearm.” 

“Like an Auror?” Weirdly, Malfoy becoming an Auror was something she could picture clearly. After all, they wore a fancy uniform. 

His visibly mood sank, and the spark in his eyes became a cloudy mist. “Like someone who had one duel too many.” 

“One could say the same for me, but I still keep it in the back pocket of my jeans,” Hermione said, voice lacking malice. 

They both had leftovers from the war. His was wearing his wand ready to fight, hers was a still fully stored beaded bag that allowed three people to survive in the wilderness for at least two weeks. 

A thought occurred to her. “How did you know it was in the back pocket of my jeans?” 

The ever present smugness in Malfoy’s features returned. “It was a logical choice, wasn’t it?” 

“Yes, that, or you were staring at my bum earlier?” It could be the light betraying her, but a slight pink blush seemed to decorate the aristocratic face in front of her. “Oh, and that’s not even the first time you did it, right? When this entire debacle started, you were complimenting my pretty bum!” She wasn’t really mad, just surprised. 

“Shall I compliment your breasts instead?” he drawled drily. Seemingly, he had gained his composure. “This would be the perfect position to look at your decolleté, were it not for your ugly Gryffindor sweater.” 

“So I do look ugly in it?” She was on the verge of stomping. 

He sighed as if he was frustrated explaining a levitation to first years. “Not you, the sweater. Truth be told, you are one of the few witches I know that could wear anything and still look good.” 

Flabbergasted, Hermione let her arms fall to her sides. “Why thank you,” she replied and meant it. That had been an honest compliment. 

Malfoy nodded, intently rightening his sleeves. Then, he inhaled sharply, appearing to realise something important. “Circe, we’re free!”

They both took a step back, putting some distance between them. Hermione felt a flitter of confusion.

“I think I’ll go back to the castle now,” she said, taking yet another step backwards. A bit of fresh air during a walk would do her good. Clear her thoughts and help her focus.

Malfoy nodded. With his hands in his pockets and his shirt untucked from where she must have accidentally pulled at it, Hermione had never seen him look so boyish. “I think I’ll go back and drink the Firewhisky I was about to order.” 

She, too, replied with an acknowledging nod. Malfoy reentered the pub, and after a few moments of processing what had just happened, Hermione went her merry way. Only a few steps into her walk, though, someone called her name. She turned back around, and to her surprise, it was Malfoy. 

“You forgot something.” A flick of his wand sent Hermione’s cardigan towards her, and she was barely able to catch it. “Can’t have the Head Girl catching a cold. Who’s going to criticise everything I do then?” The smirk was back.

“First of all, only pathogens would cause a cold, most probably—” 

She couldn’t continue because Malfoy had blown a bunch of dried leaves into her face. Next thing she knew, Hermione heard a door falling closed, and when the leaves had fallen to the ground, she was alone in front of the Three Broomsticks. 

Snorting at the wizard’s childish behaviour, Hermione slipped into the cardigan and headed towards Hogwarts. She really needed to tackle their problem.

* * *

The next morning, Hermione skipped breakfast and entered the library as it opened. 

A spill-free thermos cup filled with coffee to her person, she set up her working space. Fresh parchment, a pen, sticky notes in different colours, and a sharpened pencil all found their way to the desk in the back of the Arithmancy section. 

Her desk. 

Well, not hers exactly. But the one she considered hers since she had made it a habit to use it throughout the years whenever she needed some study time for herself, working out a particularly difficult problem without the traffic the tables in the D.A.D.A., Charms, or Transfiguration section suffered, but within a reasonable proximity to retrieve books from there if need be. 

After her setup was complete, she lined up the heavy tomes and began researching. 

“Alright. This can’t be the first time this has happened to students, correct?” she spoke to herself. Full of hope, she opened  _ Potion Panic: A Compendium of the Most Exciting Mishaps, _ delving right into it.

The sun was already colouring beautiful patterns of light and shadow in the library when Hermione closed the ninth book with more force than necessary. Just like the others,  _ Surprising Side-Effects of Plants:When Snapdragons Make You See Snakes _ had been a huge failure to provide her with useful information. 

“Tut, tut, Granger. Be careful with that precious book. It’s not his fault you’ve got your wand in a knot.” 

“Be careful what you say, Malfoy, or I will have _ your _ wand in a knot!” she hissed at the wizard that stood in front of her desk. He had the surprising talent of approaching her as quietly as a cat. “You are the last person I want to see right now.” 

Grinning, he pulled something from the pockets of his dark navy trousers. “Really? So I better leave and take this delicious muffin with me?” 

Hermione’s stomach started growling. She hadn’t realised that she was indeed very hungry and desperately wanted that muffin. 

“I think I already received my answer then.” He threw the muffin at her which she actually caught, sat down on the second chair at the huge study desk, and helped himself to another one. She didn’t spare him with a reply, and for a few minutes, all that was heard was peaceful munching. 

“Thank you,” she said once she had taken her final swallow. “How did you know I’d be hungry?” 

Malfoy shrugged. “I noticed you weren’t in the Great Hall for breakfast, and if you have an early study lesson in the Head quarters, you wake me up with your stomping, so I figured you must have skipped breakfast to get a head start on the research. And a hungry Granger is one I’d rather avoid researching with.” 

“Ha ha,” she commented drily, knowing that he was right nonetheless. “Wait, who says you can research alongside me?” it occurred to her. 

He threw her a wink that supposedly had caused a fifth year witch to faint last week. “Reasonable thinking, Granger. You need my brilliant head — and my potion recipe.” 

She groaned. He annoyingly was right. The first thing she had written down in her notes was,  _ “Find out Malfoy’s potion recipe!!!!! _ ” 

“I definitely agree on the latter, but the existence of the former is yet to be decided,” she quipped. Calmly, he pulled his own parchment, quill, and something that looked familiar. “Malfoy,” she inquired. “Are those highlighters in different colours?” 

Appearing caught, he defended, “They seem useful. The marking and retrieving of information is much more haptic that way.” 

“And who brought that to your attention?” 

“The bossiest, most headstrong, annoying witch of all time — _ you _ ,” he threw back.. 

“ _ Touché _ ,” she admitted, smiling slightly at the off-handed compliment. “And now let’s see if you are as useful as you think you are. Have you found anything?” She pointed at the book in his hands. 

Instantly, Malfoy’s features lost any superiority and smugness. “I’m not sure. This part here looks promising, but the referenced sources are more than sketchy, I am afraid. Will you look at it?” 

Hermione relaxed. Even if she couldn’t admit it out loud, she was aware that Draco Malfoy — at least intellectually — deserved the Head Boy post. He was witty, possessed a lot of knowledge, and could draw connections between information while most others sat there with their mouths open and their minds blank. He also had a keen intuition Hermione knew she lacked at times, an instinctive understanding how (not necessarily  _ why _ ) magic worked — something she secretly envied because it was likely the result of growing up in an ancient wizarding family. Though,  _ she _ grew up learning how to use a microwave, and that was almost like magic. 

Recognising that, again, her thoughts had drifted away, she forced herself to focus on his words. “Sure.” 

She pushed herself from her comfy armchair and crossed the short distance to Malfoy’s side of the desk. His finger hovered over a passage. “I must say I agree with you here,” Hermione said after reading it. “Samantha Seethrough isn’t a reliable source when it comes to potions or their ingredients. Wasn’t she banned from Diagon Alley because she ran around there naked?” 

Malfoy snorted, nodding. “Indeed. My great-grandfather Pollux was quite senile in the final decade of his life, but he still remembered, and I quote, ‘These perfect pair of tits even Merlin couldn’t have helped but suckle on.’” 

The last words were spoken with a broken, aged voice, but so full of verve that Hermione threw her head back and laughed. 

A short tickling of something coursing through her body was the only warning she got before the curse stroke again. With an elegant, “ _ Whoops! _ ” Hermione was pushed into Malfoy’s lap by an invisible force. 

Luckily, he steadied her tumble with his arms around her hip; otherwise, they would have both fallen and landed on the floor. 

“Here we go again,” groaned the wizard. 

“There is no real pattern behind it. No rhythm and no triggers,” Hermione analysed. 

“I noticed, too. The only condition for this to happen seems to be that the both of us are in a room and in a certain physical proximity.” 

She nodded. Stuck on his lap sitting sideways, Hermione put an arm around his shoulders to sit more comfortable. It was strange to suddenly be confronted with the form of a wizard she had avoided for years. 

Touching him made him feel so… real. Human. She couldn’t help but notice that beneath the soft fabric of his expensive sweater, the muscles of his shoulders and neck were quite defined. Strangely, he didn’t react to her touch. 

“We should add this to our notes. Can you reach my quill?” He had pushed his chair back during the imitation of his ancestor, so he couldn’t grab it by himself anymore. 

By now, they knew they couldn’t change much until the effect that glued them together lessened.In the meantime, they could at least take some notes.

“Let’s see—” Hermione stretched towards the table, but Malfoy’s quill was still out of reach. “That’s not enough. My arms aren’t long enough…” 

“Your wand?” 

“In the dorm. And yours?” 

“Same. I’m making an effort to leave it there.” 

She turned her head upon his admission and gave Malfoy an appreciative glance. “I know that isn’t easy for you.” 

He nodded curtly. By now, she was aware that divulging his motives, emotions, and struggles wasn’t something he was keen on sharing. Slytherin to the core, war ridden or not. 

She made a decision. “I am going to  _ Accio _ it wandlessly.” 

His eyebrows shot up so that they almost touched his blond fringes. “You can do that?  _ Accio _ is difficult to execute without a wand.” 

“It takes some concentration, but yes, I can do that. Most of the time.” 

For whatever reason, she had always kept her talents concerning wandless magic mostly to herself. Harry and Ron, having accompanied her through her highs and lows, had taken a glimpse into her capabilities, but not even they knew that she could wandlessly summon objects. Most inexplicably, sitting in Draco Malfoy’s lap in the library of Hogwarts felt like the perfect moment to share. 

She concentrated on the beautiful white peacock quill on the desk, felt the signature of it, the special, arrogant air that came from the peacock ancestry, and then, she pulled on it. When the feather tickled the inside of her hand, she knew she had been successful. 

“You did it! You did wonderfully!” Malfoy praised with a low voice and a pat on her hip. 

Hermione felt herself blush. “Thank you.” 

He blinked slowly, and she knew he had just realised his words and actions. “I am—”

“Oh, for Minerva’s sake!” came a voice from above some shelves, followed by hasty footsteps approaching. 

“ _ Fuck _ ,” Malfoy whispered, half groaning, half laughing. He let his forehead sink against Hermione’s shoulder. “That’s Pince.” 

“So what? We’re doing nothing inappropriate.” 

“No, we aren’t. But this isn’t what it looks like, right?” 

She was still wondering about his almost familiar touch when Pince rounded the final corner and stood in front of him. 

Hermione had always been in the librarian’s good graces, but judging by the deep frown on the older witch’s face, those times were over. 

“Mister Malfoy! You should have learned by now not to be caught in positions like this in my library. And Miss Granger! I am deeply disappointed!” 

“We are not making out! We are just— The potion— I can’t help it!” 

“Of course, Miss Granger. Say no more,” the librarian dismissed Hermione’s stammering sternly. “The next thing you’ll say is that you fell onto Mister Malfoy’s lap! This isn’t the first time I’ve caught the Head students in a predicament like this. Though, I am surprised this year. The times are strange, but I still expect you two out of my library _ stante pede _ ! And I don’t want to see you again this weekend,” she finished with an angry huff and disappeared somewhere between the shelves. 

Hermione stared after her, too discombobulated to say anything, until she realised that the head against her shoulder was shaking, making her a bit concerned. “Malfoy?” 

He lifted his head, and soon she noticed that he was laughing. Not in smirking, grinning, or cackling evilly. No. Draco Malfoy was laughing so hard that he had to wipe tears from his eyes. 

She had a hard time believing it. As soon as he looked at her, he started laughing even harder. It was a rich, deep sound from the bottom of his belly, and it was so infectious that she started laughing along. 

“Merlin, Granger. I have been caught making out in the library numerous times, but you and me? This was the most hilarious time of all!” He was so at ease in that moment, so relaxed and open, that Hermione knew it wasn’t an insult of any sort. He sincerely found it  _ very _ funny.

“Well, since this is the first time I’ve been caught in the library, I am quite relieved that you enjoy my role in this so much.” She tried to sound serious, but a giggle escaped her. 

“Really?” he said, surprised and slowly ceasing his laughter. “You’ve never snogged in the library? Must you always be such a good girl?” 

Hermione felt the physical attachment to Malfoy lessening and tested if she could get up from his lap. Slowly, she could, and almost missing the contact, she stood and gathered a few books she intended to take to their dorm. 

“I never said I never made out here. But, as you said, I am a good girl.” She winked at him and turned to leave. “And good girls don’t get caught.” 

Hermione swore she heard his jaw drop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to say that Draco citing Pollux might be one of the lines I have enjoyed writing the most in this story!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this week has been a 'I was too busy to answer to all the lovely reviews' one. I apologise, especially since I wanted to reply to every single review of this fic!
> 
> Without any further ado, but with a lot of beta love to niffizzle, I present you this small-ish chapter.

“Did anything happen between you and Draco?” Pansy started the conversation while wriggling into the space between Ron and Hermione. 

“Good morning to you too, Pansy,” Hermione sarcastically answered. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

“You haven’t had a fight that ended with wands pointed at each other in more than a week,” the other witch stated matter-of-factly as she helped herself to a cup of tea. “Why is that?” 

Hermione shrugged non-comittically. As of now, no one knew about the predicament she and the Head Boy had landed themselves in, and Hermione wasn’t keen on sharing.

When Hermione still hadn’t answered, Pansy let out an over-dramatic sigh. “Too bad. I had hoped that all of the explosive energy between you two would escalate into frantic shagging.” 

“Pansy!” Hermione hissed. She placed her cup on the table with so much force that the coffee spilled. First Pince, now Pansy. 

“What? We are all adults here. Or are you afraid of what your friends would say?” She pointed at Ron next to her, who was very much dedicated to his toast. Harry wasn’t awake yet, and the rest of the table was largely occupied by first and second years. “Draco wouldn’t say anything, trust me. And you know that as long as he eats, Ronald is as good as deaf and blind for everything else around him.” 

“It’s not that. I know Ron has taken quite a liking in you,” Hermione admitted, smiling at the slight pinking of Pansy’s cheeks. “And you and I are starting to get along. But Malfoy and I are like magnets pushing each other away.” 

“In many ways, yes,” Pansy agreed. “You are very much alike in some aspects of your personality and both hate to let someone else take the lead. But magnets also have a pull towards each other.” A slow smirk spread across her lips. 

Hermione rolled her eyes. What a ridiculous thought. And yet, that conversation kept reappearing in Hermione’s mind throughout the course of the day. 

****

“So this is actually not the worst position it could leave us in,” Hermione stated carefully, only a few hours after her encounter with Pansy. 

“Says you. I, on the other hand, am feeling very uncomfortable.” 

Hermione stood by her statement. Draco Malfoy was a surprisingly comfortable person to lay on. 

When the effect of the potion had caught them, he had been taking a nap on the sofa in the common room. After stumbling over his broom yet again and cursing him to the ninth circle of Hell, Hermione had been catapulted forward, landing her on top of him. 

Now, she had her head resting below his chin and could hear his heart beating steadily. 

“I could get used to this. You’re snuggly.” She was teasing him but not lying. The fabric of his sweater was soft against her cheek, and he smelled like he had just showered. For a moment, she enjoyed the situation so much that she forgot the catch of being in it with Draco, that she snuggled deeper into him. 

“Stop wriggling!” 

Hermione laughed. “Are you afraid of a bit of snuggling?”

“While I have no empathy for you Gryffindors insisting on so much body contact, I am not afraid of it.” 

She wriggled on. 

“However, I can’t control my purely physical reactions on a witch moving all over me,” he seethed through his teeth. 

Hermione stopped dead in her movements and raised her head as far as she could to look him in the eyes. 

He smirked, probably at her facial expression, and Hermione commented on the prospect of Draco Malfoy reacting to her in any typical male way with a juvenile, “Ewwww.” 

A second later, she realised just how juvenile it was and pressed her lips together. 

His gaze found hers, they both stared at each other — and then both of them erupted in laughter at the absurdity of their situation. 

Somehow, laughing with Draco — and both of them being fine about it — was strangely intimate. Shaking in hilarity, Hermione rested her forehead against his clavicle, simultaneously feeling the low rumble from his laughter vibrating not only in her eardrums but also against her body. 

“Stop!” he demanded after a bit. But she couldn’t — just as that one time when Harry had been hiccuping an entire D.A.D.A. lesson due to a Charm in the previous lesson gone totally wrong, resulting in some interesting spell casting. Oliver Wood, the poor, new Professor for Defense, had been totally helpless, and the entire situation had been so comical that Hermione cried tears of laughter under her table before she gracefully cancelled the faulty magic. Professor Wood hadn’t been amused by her interference, but she couldn’t care less at this point. 

It was the same for her now as she lay in the Heads’ common room on top of Draco Malfoy. Life was too short not to laugh oneself silly in situations like these. 

“The pull has lessened, so stop,” her fellow Head Boy tried again but to no avail. Then, he practically pleaded, “Hermione, please.” 

Him saying her name, connected to a beg, did funny things to her already chaotic insides, making her laughter trail off. “I’m sorry,” she brought forth. “Physical reactions again?”

With effort, he shook his head. “It’s alright, really. But I’m not getting any oxygen into my lungs like this.” 

Suddenly, Hermione realised that he was right. With them shaking in laughter, she had put her entire weight on his ribcage, effectively hindering his breathing. 

“Oh, sorry!” She jumped off of him, the endorphins from the laughter still running high. That was the only explanation why she then asked, “A Firewhisky to calm down?” 

He stood, too, stretching and taking a deep breath. It was then that she noticed again that she was almost a head smaller than him — and had more wiry muscles that she hadn’t taken the time to analyse yet. 

The luxury of tasty nutrition had helped her to gain soft curves on her hips and belly that she felt very comfortable with, while it apparently had given Draco hard planes and the form of someone who played Quidditch on a regular basis with great success. 

“That seems like a good idea. I think I have a good one still in my bedroom. I nicked it from my father’s stash on my last visit at home. Wait right here, and I am going to fetch it.” His smile was relaxed and open, and she was so overtaken from the sudden impact of the person Draco Malfoy had become that she could only nod. 

Asked later, Hermione couldn’t have given a report of what exactly they did on that evening. Just that they drank plenty of expensive whisky, sat on the sofa and talked, laughed, decided that they had shared enough weirdly intimate encounters to call each other by their first names like the adults they were — and talked some more. About family, friends, the past, the present, and the future. In hindsight, this was the breaking point of their relationship. A tabula rasa, so to speak, a clean slate. 

The young wizard soon turned into a permanent resident in Hermione’s thoughts. Like the final puzzle piece, the evening brought everything together, and too often, she was reminded of how opposite yet similar the two of them were. Not only had she gotten used to his presence, but she had also seen sides of him she had blatantly ignored until the incident. Or maybe he just had opted to share them with her now? 

He was a diligent study and knew the Hogwarts library like the back of his hand. He had outgrown the insecurities that had plagued him in the years before and yielded his wand with an ease that Hermione admired. But he could also be pushy when it came to things he wanted and had to have the final say in everything — both traits Hermione knew too well she equally possessed. And like her, his mind worked faster than his heart, leaving no space for empathy at times. 

All this taken into consideration, she came to one final conclusion: Draco Malfoy was rather attractive to her.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When it rains, it pours - this is what my week was. But I am very much looking forward to give you this chapter. I am a sucker for duelling scenes, and this one was veeeery vaguely inspired by a recent Star Wars movie (the second to last one? Don't ask about a title, I still call them The Lovely Old Ones - the New Old Ones I Don't Like - The New New Ones I Adore).
> 
> Endless beta love to niffizzle; she is a blessing!

New D.A.D.A. Professor Oliver Wood might have been inexperienced when it came to teaching, but he compensated at least some of it with his humorous nature and his Scottish brogue. He also had a very good instinct when it came to practical lessons. 

“I repeat, your task today is not only to partner up and disarm your opponents, but also to render them incompetent to move without the use of petrification.” 

Hermione’s partner rolled his eyes at the repetition, but Hermione already listed the strengths and weaknesses of the team they would fight against. They were strong; despite favouring  _ Expelliarmus _ over everything, Harry was a powerful and witty dueller. And Ron, she was quite aware, was too often underestimated, especially when it came to his sharp instinct. She just hoped her team wasn’t up for an embarrassing loss. 

“Scared, Potter?” Draco taunted, and Hermione could only groan. What a great start.

“You wish, Malfoy,” Harry growled. 

“Resume your positions, everyone!” Wood announced. “I am going to erect the field perimeters in three, two, one!” 

The professor swirled his wand and duelling areas in the form of small fields appeared. As soon as each one was surrounded with orange glowing enchantments that soundproofed the field and provided a safety barrier, Hermione’s sole focus was on the task. 

And that task was beating her two best friends in a duel. 

Harry didn’t hesitate.  _ “Expelliarmus!” _

Hermione had anticipated that move and blocked Harry’s attempt to disarm Draco with a Shield Spell. That gave her partner the chance to fire a curse beneath her shield by quickly dropping to his knees and stinging Ron. 

She had no time to appreciate the teamwork. Harry and Ron recovered quickly and fought back with more force. Hermione felt her adrenaline rising, and, judging by the reddened cheeks of Draco, he did as well. 

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Ron mouth something to Harry. 

_ Hair. _

It occurred to her that she hadn’t thought of pulling it back. Such a stupid mistake! 

One, two, three jinxes were directed at her mane, barely deflected by her before Draco could flick his wand. A quick touch to it told Hermione he hadn’t cut it off, as she had feared for a moment, but instead magicked it into one long, neat braid — complete with a Slytherin green bow at the end of it. He acknowledged her reaction, a glare that was forty-five percent thankful, with a wink before he was forced to duck under a beam of fire courtesy of Harry. 

Damn, they were good. But then again, what did one expect from two wizards who had already been admitted to Auror training? 

“Come on. You’re Auror material as well!” It was as if Draco had read her thoughts. “We can beat these two dimwits.” 

He wasn’t wrong entirely. The Minister himself had asked Hermione to join the Auror Department. But as much as she loved the challenge innate to a duel, to an investigation, she didn’t like the fight. She had fought enough, in a world that was still sometimes foreign to her. Not to mention that some people in this realm didn’t exactly want her there. 

And that had once included the young man next to her, who now pressed his lips together, concentrating on a complicated curse to throw at Harry. It was to no avail, since the curse was reflected back to him, and Draco only evaded it by a hair. A frown formed on his aristocratic face. 

_ “Ahhh!” _ she yelled angrily. A spell had targeted her, and the magic — Ron’s magic — pulled her wand from her hands. 

She had allowed herself to get distracted, and now she had paid for her mistake. A simple  _ Expelliarmus _ and Ron’s stupid grin were her punishment. 

“I lost my wand!” she shouted at Draco who didn’t take his eyes off of his opponent. 

_ “Fuck!” _ he first cursed, then grimaced, flicking his wrist to block Harry’s Tarantallegra Spell. “We haven’t lost yet. Are you ready to show your personal little trick to everyone?” 

Hermione barely had time to think about the answer before he acted and she reacted to him. Like in slow motion, she could anticipate his actions. 

When he hissed, “Now!” he interrupted his fight with Harry and directed his wand at Ron. 

Simultaneously, Hermione ducked under his wand arm, coming to an upright position across from Harry. 

The switch of opponents irritated her raven haired friend for the split of a second, and she knew that was the slot they had waited for. Trusting her magic,  _ trusting Draco _ , she closed her eyes and concentrated. The slight buzzing of magic she felt being emanated from her friends and others in the room. And then, the warm hum of energy that had to be Draco. Strangely comforting, strangely complementing her own magic, even calling to it. She had no idea why she trusted him in this situation, but she instinctively did. 

Hermione opened her eyes again, focused on Harry, and thought of disarming him. 

“Wha—?” her friend spat out before his precious wand landed in her hands and a Silencing Spell thrown in for good measure rendered him speechless. 

She tapped the still fighting Draco’s thigh with the pad of her fingers. He blinked once, signalling her that he understood, all while keeping Ron occupied. Hermione tapped a second time, and Draco directed his wand back at Harry while she fired another wandlessly executed  _ Expelliarmus _ at Ron. 

As soon as Hermione had caught Ron’s wand, Draco followed up to wrap her friend up tight in conjured ropes against Harry’s immobile form. 

“Yes!” she shouted in glee, elated that they had beaten two upcoming Aurors. All they had used was cooperation and trust, along with a little bit of magic. 

“Well done, witch,” Draco praised. 

Hermione welcomed the compliment with a warm shudder down her spine. “You excelled, too. We’re a good team.” She raised her hand for a high-five, realising too late that it was probably a gesture the Head Boy wasn’t familiar with. 

For a moment, he looked at her hand, blinking. Then, he caught it and wrapped his hand around hers. Hermione resisted the urge to laugh at the comical gesture. 

“What did you do, Malfoy?” Ron, struggling against the ropes and raging. Not that Hermione was surprised. He had grown up, but sometimes, he still had a bit of an anger problem. 

“It’s called magic,” Draco replied smugly and with a wink directed at Hermione. “I believe it’s something the two of you should be familiar with. Didn’t you already sign up for Auror training yet?” He turned around, probably to pack his things. And that was where the scene could have ended. 

But Ron just  _ had _ to speak up. “We have. What are the plans you are pursuing, Malfoy? As a former—” 

Hermione acted on instinct. She slashed her wand she had just gathered from the floor to silence Ron. “Whatever you were about to say, Ron, it is uncalled for.” 

“It’s alright, Hermione.” Draco’s voice was just above a whisper. He placed one hand on her arm as if to calm her, a new gesture coming from the wizard who so rarely initiated physical contact. “I am used to perceptions like this, Weasley. But if you really want to know, my plans are to become an exceptional wizard.” 

He pretended to blow steam from the tip of his wand as if it were a steaming gun and threw her another wink. 

“I think I have to apologise.” The two Head students directed their attention back to Ron. “I shouldn’t have leashed out at you.” Ron’s voice was quiet, and he seemed to have found a sudden interest in watching his own feet. 

“Thank you, Ronald. That is very mature of you.” Hermione meant what she said. She really was proud of her hot-headed friend. 

She turned her head to gauge Draco’s reaction. He was standing near her, but with more distance than he had during the duel where they had not been even an inch between them at times. 

He was still panting, something she hadn’t expected from the control he had over his voice, and his cheeks showed that the duel had been challenging him physically. Hermione understood that, for she felt sweat trickling down her back herself. Then, his gaze swapped to hers, and her heartbeat got caught somewhere in her throat. 

Draco’s eyes had always been expressive to her, be it in anger, fear, or, lately, amusement. But now, they were a swirling sea of emotions: excitement, praise, joy, pride, even a bit of arousal? The intensity washed over her, gnawing at her curiosity. But then, he closed his eyes and said, “Thank you, Weasley. It was a pleasure to engage in a duel with you and Potter.“ 

Again, Hermione heard a strained control in his words, a phrase that seemed ingrained in his habit that he could now rely on. Harry and Ron mumbled something intelligible that sounded a lot like, “Likewise,” but her attention remained locked on Draco. His chest was still heaving, but she could see him slowing his breathing down by sheer will. 

“Alright, class, time to pack up,” Wood’s voice broke through her avid concentration. ”I’m looking forward to another practical session next lesson since you all did pretty well today.” 

The wards between the student groups lowered. She saw Draco inhale sharply and return to the present by reopening his eyes. 

He gave her one last wink before disappearing into the crowd of students leaving the classroom. 

“Wow, Hermione,” Harry placed a hand on her shoulder, clapping it approvingly. “You both were brilliant!” There was surprise in his tone. “I mean, we always knew you are, but I hadn't expected you teaming up with Malfoy would be that—” Her best friend seemed to be searching for words. 

“I’ll help you, mate. We didn’t expect the two of you being such a hell of a team!” Ron supplied. He had fully recovered from his anguish and was back to being an all good friend. He burnt quick and hot, but he had gotten much better in controlling his outbursts over the years. 

“They are absolutely right, Hermione.” Wood had come over, and seeing as Harry, Ron, and her were the only students left in the room, he resorted to using her first name. “You would be a force of nature. You should really consider joining the Aurors. Both of you.” 

Hermione nodded solemnly, her eyes on the door. “Thank you. I appreciate your praise,” she said, mind elsewhere. “But I’m sorry. You must excuse me.” 

She didn’t wait for any of them to respond before sprinting out of the room. She really wanted to talk to Draco about the duel, and after a short sprint, she caught up with him. 

“Hey!” she forced out, slightly out of breath. 

Draco, on the other hand, had already bounced back to his suave self. “Hey? What an elaborate phrase,” he remarked drily but in good spirits. 

That changed when Hermione straightforwardly asked, “What  _ are _ your plans after Hogwarts?” 

His face darkened and his lips pressed into a thin line. “That’s none of your concern.” 

“It truly isn’t,” she admitted, falling into a brisk step next to him. But she wasn’t done with him yet. “From what I saw, you really have a penance for duelling. You might be good as an Auror.” 

He snorted, derisive. “Sure. They’re going to welcome me with open arms.”

Hermione huffed. “They’d be idiots not to. You possess a Defense talent that is stunning. And I know you well enough by now to see how much you love it.” 

“Yes, and I also have a track record of affiliating with the Dark Arts, should you of all people have forgotten.” His eyes flicked to his sleeve where Hermione knew the remainders of the Dark Mark were hidden. 

On instinct, she grabbed his arm and forced him to face her. “I haven’t forgotten,” she seethed, inexplicably angry all of a sudden. “Stop seeing your past as a burden and treat your history as a treasure where you can pull knowledge from.” 

He laughed, but there was no humour in it. Hermione felt a tingling of something in her hand where she touched him. A sure sign, she now knew, of an upcoming case of magnetism. 

Draco must have felt it, too, for he cautiously removed her hand from his person. There was no aggression, no rejection in his movements. Just carefully executed control. 

“You are such an optimist, Hermione.” 

She listened closely. The atmosphere was charged with energy, like the flood deciding whether to crash on land or ebb down. 

“Have you  _ tried _ signing up for being an Auror?” she asked, somehow not daring herself to react to the covert compliment. Draco deserved to have a chance to pursue his dreams, to make good of his talents like everyone else in their year. 

“Of course not.” He hesitated, then rolled his eyes. “Did you?” 

“What?” The question genuinely confused her. “Why should I?” 

He snorted, unbelieving. “Because you would be able to burn them down and even look lovely while doing so.” 

This time, she blushed. So it  _ had _ been a compliment. 

“I don’t want to be an Auror,” she said, pushing past the swell of emotions starting to stir inside her. “I want to research, create, spend a few years with that. Then, I want to teach.” 

He nodded, as if he could see that. “You have it all planned out, it seems. Which field?” 

She shrugged because she honestly didn’t know yet. “Charms or Transfiguration perhaps. Or maybe Potions, even though that seems a tad ironic now.” 

Draco chuckled. “A tiny bit. Alright, Professor Granger, I will leave you in the company of your friends now.” He nodded towards Harry and Ron who were now approaching. But a slight smile remained on his face, and Hermione felt strangely… balanced. 

It was long after she had joined her friends on their way outside that she realised that the magnetic pull had lessened at some point in their conversation, that it hadn’t developed into them being glued to each other. 

_ Strange.  _

“Hey, Hermione!” Upon hearing her name, she banned all thoughts of Malfoy from her head. 

“Hi, Terry.” 

“I was wondering,” the Ravenclaw wizard said, “It’s a Hogsmeade weekend, and I thought…” he hesitated, before bringing forth, “If you would maybe accompany for a walk through the village? Maybe we can stop for tea somewhere?” 

Hermione pondered the offer. Terry was a nice wizard, though not the brightest. But he had a friendly, patient attitude and was easy to talk to. Maybe he was the stability she needed after all the chaos that happened in her life? 

She smiled. “That would be lovely.” 

He beamed back and sauntered off, a spring in his step. Terry Boot couldn’t be more different from Draco, even if he tried. 

* * *

Come Saturday evening, Hermione stormed into the living room, frustrated and annoyed. 

“I can’t even enjoy a stroll in Hogsmeade without a voice in my head saying, ‘This guy can’t differentiate between a Stinging Hex and a Needle Jinx!’” She couldn’t fully explain her sudden anger, but she was out for an escalation. 

And it worked. “So what? Where is the problem?” Draco had gotten up from his place by the fire. Somehow, Hermione had crossed the distance so they were almost chest to chest — or rather, chest to head with the considerable height difference. 

“The problem is that the voice in my head sounds exactly like you!” She poked his stomach, praying the magnetic pull wouldn’t set in now. 

Or maybe, she wished exactly for that? 

“I’m sorry I’ve gotten your subconscious to see reason. That I casually mentioned you deserve to be treated like the fucking smart witch you are,” he formulated, his voice an angry timbre. 

“The problem is that my mind doesn’t see reason, it sees you,” she opposed. “With all the involuntary touching, the hidden compliments, and the thrice cursed smirk you bestow upon me, you made a primitive part of my brain keyed to you!”

She tried to control her temper, but it was difficult with him glaring back at her. He was a master of pulling her strings, and now was no difference. 

“Your brain simply recognises what’s good for you.” 

“You? You’re saying that  _ you _ are good for me?” 

He opened the mouth to say something, but the words never came. He huffed and they were so close Hermione felt his warm breath on her face. 

Maybe it was good that the words escaped him, because at this point, Hermione had no idea how she would react or what answer she wished for. Kiss her? Insult her? Both seemed within the realms of possibility. 

“I don’t know anymore,” he finally admitted, his voice quiet and as if primarily directed at himself. 

All of her angry energy suddenly left her body, and she replied warily, “Alright.” 

Then, she turned and left for her bed without so much as a goodbye. She had nothing else to say. At least, nothing that made sense.

Laying on top of the sheets in her pyjamas, she stared at the ceiling for nearly an hour, trying to make sense of her and Malfoy’s relationship. 

What she didn’t hear when she finally fell into a deep, dreamless slumber was the piece of parchment with a potion recipe written in a neat, curved script being pushed under her bedroom door. 

* * *

When Hermione’s eyes blinked open in the early morning hours, she tried to convince herself that everything was alright. That was before she spotted the parchment laying innocently on her side of the bedroom door. One glance and she knew what it was. Draco’s recipe and his message to keep her distance. Their distance.

After swallowing the pang of hurt over what had to be rejection, Hermione forced herself to be pragmatic. Now that she had another piece of the puzzle, it should be easier to find a solution to the magnetic pull, right? With her resolution renewed, she passed the still closed bedroom door of the Head Boy and headed to the library somewhat elated. 

Two hours later, however, she was more than ready to tear her hair out. Probably looked like it, too. 

She had yelled at some second years who wanted her advice on how to brew a love potion and had thrown a notebook at Ron who’d had a question about the adequacy of a rune translation. How he had made it to N.E.W.T. level in that field was an unresolved riddle. Disturbing her research process was a bad idea, and he should have known that. 

Sighing, she summoned her notebook back to her desk and rested her head on her hands. “Okay, think about this logically.” Voicing her thoughts aloud sometimes helped. “My potion doesn’t contain anything that causes magnetism or something like that and has no connection to a Sticking Charm whatsoever.” 

Again, she checked the ingredients of her recipe. It was her own try on helping individuals with depression. The community might not have realised it entirely yet, but mental illnesses were a thing in the Wizarding World, especially now, after the war, and she didn’t exclude herself here. But just like in the Muggle world, people too often were too blind to see.

Draco’s potion seemed to aim in a similar direction. Valerian root, lavender, leech juice, and some others. She suspected he was developing a variation of Dreamless Sleep. But no source, no textbook nor tome, brought any revelation that the ingredients they had used or a combination of them would lead to an effect like the one they kept experiencing. 

“Think, Hermione, think,” she said to herself and took a deep breath. “Take your emotions out of the equation and think rationally; pull a Snape.” 

Slowly, she counted backwards from ten to zero and then up again, a useful technique she had read about in a Muggle book about meditation. When she opened her eyes, she was calm, focused, and her mind was open to the magnitude of possibilities one could approach a magical riddle with. 

The potion ingredients didn’t interact with each other, or at least there was no literal record about it. And with the frequency that their common ingredients were used in various combinations, some Potion Master in the past millennium would have encountered a phenomenon like this. 

Suddenly, she remembered a philosophy concept she’d once read about.

“Occam’s razor, the simplest explanation is often the most likely. Meaning, the cause of the experienced effect probably doesn’t lie within the potions Draco and I used.” While the words left her mouth, Hermione’s brain buzzed. “It’s not the potions. It’s us!” 

  
She squealed and jumped from her chair, startling a first year that had accidentally wandered in that section.  _ Finally _ , the dam had broken, and instead of dead ends, the ideas flowed. Obviously, she would have to head to the Transfiguration section! With renewed purpose, Hermione headed off. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Without further ado, but with a lot of love for niffizzle and the nerd group, I give you the final chapter with an epilogue to follow. I must apologise for not replying to the lovely reviews, but the last week has been hectic, and that's putting it nicely.

It was weird for Hermione to enter Snape’s office alone. She had never done this before. Usually, if she wanted to pester him, she cornered him after class or during patrols when another student was with her. 

This was probably only the second time they were alone in a room, the incident during the Battle of Hogwarts being the first. Though, back then, she’d had her hands full of saving his life, applying all the healing knowledge she had gathered over the war. And he had barely been lucid. Now, it was as if she had lost her ability to speak at first. 

“Miss Granger, I believe you came here for a reason. Otherwise, I’d say you leave so I can resume my grading.” He patted the stack of parchment in front of him, the abundance of red ink on it very clear for her to see. 

“Obviously,” she replied, and almost laughed at the Potion Master’s raise of eyebrows. “I’ve been investigating the cause of Draco’s— Mister Malfoy’s and my disposition you have been witness to.” 

Was that a smirk on Snape’s face? “Continue.” 

“It wasn’t a spell targeting the potion you have administered on us to relieve us from our predicament. Moreover, it was—” 

The door flew open. Instinctively, Hermione reached for her wand, whereas Snape didn’t even flinch. 

Draco. Of course. “It wasn’t the potion!” 

Hermione started clapping slowly. “Good job, Draco. A bit slower than me, but still.” Then, she remembered what she had found out, and she felt ashamed. Draco, to her surprise, looked a bit hurt. “I must apologise. That was uncalled for.” 

“You seem to have similar intentions for your visit as Miss Granger here, so why don’t you take a seat and remember that you have manners, Draco,” Snape suggested. 

A grim nod, and the blond sat down beside Hermione. Before an uncomfortable silence could spread between them, she started speaking. “As I was about to explain to Professor Snape, the phenomenon we experienced wasn’t caused by the potions we brewed, but by us, ourselves.” 

“Our magical cores interact, to be precise. That’s what I found out, too.” Draco nodded almost solemnly.

“Like magnets, sometimes we push each other away, fight, like two with the same polarisation and other times—” She spoke quietly, coming to terms as to how accurate the metaphor was. 

“We are so different, we feel a pull,” Draco finished for her. 

“Exactly.” When Snape spoke, Hermione had almost forgotten about his presence. “An unusual, but not unheard of incident. Not dangerous or harmful. Barr any deeper meaning. Basically, a form of accidental magic.” 

Draco snorted derisively. “So we have to live with it?” 

“Yes and no. Mostly, it lessens after a while when the persons themselves mature. Grow,” Snape enunciated.

“Are you saying we’re acting like children?” Hermione’s anger flared up again.

“No, that is not what I said. Quite the opposite. You both have had a very… stressful couple of years, and it forced you to grow up. Now that the war is over and the two of you are Heads, you have more chances to interact and react to each other than before, without any restrictions of house, friends, and, dare I say, blood status.” 

Hermione felt too many things at once. Hurt, because what Snape said was true; they had grown up so fast and lost too much innocence on the way. A strange embarrassment because she had allowed herself to basically project her feelings through her magic, making herself act stupidly, irresponsibly, and irrational. And, finally, a sense of pride because she and Draco had many instances where they were… great with each other. Not as Heads. Not necessarily as students of magic. But as two people interested in one another. 

She looked at Draco. His face, too, was flushed, and she thought she could read the same set of emotions in his; though, the remark about the blood status was probably more directed at him than at her. 

“Enough talk about emotions,” Snape said and slapped a hand on the table. “How are you going to tackle the core magnetism?” He looked at them with a clear expectation of an answer. When it didn’t come, he reached for his red ink quill again. “Well, that is clearly something you need to find out, right? I want a co-written essay, ten thousand words at least, from the both of you exactly one week from now.” Ignoring their gasps, Snape pointed at the door. “See yourselves out. Have a good night.” 

Realising the visit had come to a somewhat sudden end, Hermione rose from her chair simultaneously to Draco. 

Automatically, Hermione started walking towards their dorm, just like Draco. The wizard walked alongside her, seemingly processing everything that had just happened. Just like her. 

“Well…” she started, then trailed off. 

“Yes, well…” he answered about a minute later, when they had almost reached their dorm. 

They entered the dorm, slipped out of their robes and shoes, and both plopped down on the sofa.

“So… magnetism?” he spoke into the sparsely lighted room since no one had bothered to light the torches. With only the fireplace alight, the room felt calm and focused. ”Like in Muggle physics?” Draco formulated the words like a question, but Hermione could hear they weren’t really. 

“Have you been reading about it?” 

“Well yes. I wanted to understand. Once I had gotten behind the basic concept of magnetism, I wanted to know more. 

“Electricity?” she guessed from her experiences with Arthur Weasley. 

“You’re doing all kinds of stuff with it from heating up meals to communicating over the phone just with ionized particles. That is fascinating!” Draco gestured with his hands to underline his excitement, and Hermione couldn’t help but chuckle. 

“That is a bit adorable,” she admitted, smiling. He snorted as an answer. “It is. I should introduce you to the concept of science shows one day. Something tells me you’re going to love the television.” 

“I’ve heard about it in Muggle Studies, but I couldn’t believe it. Do you have one at home?” 

For the first time in a while, Hermione thought about it. “I don’t really have a home anymore. My parents are in Australia, and once we finish school, I need to find a place for myself and a job — quickly.” Draco, school, and everything else had made her concentrate on her all day life, but now, it all came rushing back. 

“What about Potter’s home? From what I’ve heard from my mother, the Black townhouse is now in his occupation.” Draco’s question was genuine. And that alone had tears well up in her eyes for some reason. 

“Could we save this for another conversation?” 

He nodded, solemn. For a few heartbeats, he remained silent. Then, “What’s your favourite movie?” There was so much curiosity in his voice that Hermione felt a chuckle pushing through her sadness. 

“That’s hard to tell. It’s more of a favourite genre, really.” She leaned back and impulsively threw her legs over Draco’s lap. His eyebrows shot up for a second, but then he simply placed his hands on her shins. “Let me tell you about rom-coms.”

She conjured some snacks with her wand and started explaining. From the topic of TV, they somehow slipped into talking about newspapers (and the lack of quality of The Prophet); then, they chatted about Quidditch, followed by favourite food, the use of dragon blood, and if Flitwick and Pomfrey had something going on. 

They talked for hours. About too many things and not anything at all. Ugly truths. Heartbreak. Pasts long forgotten and history unknown. And more than once, one or both of them had to blink away tears threatening to spill. Though, this time it didn’t feel like a tabula rasa, it felt like carefully traipsing into something new.

“And, mysteriously, the morning after Bobby Fenwick bit my father, all of the boy’s teeth disappeared in the middle of the first class of the day.” 

They were discussing embarrassing accidental magic when suddenly, Draco said, “We should kiss.” 

Hermione almost dropped the mug of tea in her hands. “What?” 

“Hermione,” Draco started and placed her mug on the table before taking her hands in his. “Listen. You were right. Sometimes, when we fight, I don’t know if I should hex you or kiss you, either.” Heat blossomed on her cheeks. “I just needed a while to realise that, maybe, I want to give into that pull, not only when we are pushing at each other, but also when we get along.” 

“I have had a theory going in the same direction, I admit.” She avoided looking into his eyes, knowing that they were her weakness. Instead, she concentrated on their hands. Interlaced. Skin to skin, one holding to the other. “Why did you push me away last night then?” 

“I am not entirely sure. Though, we both were so incensed that it would have ended in angry shagging instead of a kiss. And that would probably have made it worse.” 

Hermione felt a surge of heat, though she knew he was right. 

“But what if I don’t like kissing you?” she asked, fully aware that that was largely improbable. She was only a bit afraid of what would happen if she liked it too much. 

“It’s just a theory we are testing to see if the magnetism of our cores is really there, to see if we willingly choose the pull, it can outrule the push. And if it’s neither, it’s just a kiss.” While talking, he had gently pulled her towards him, the grasp on her so careful that she could have slipped out of it at any moment. 

Though, she didn’t want that. Quite the opposite. To counter his gentless, she let go of his hands, gripped the fabric of his shirt, and, with a decisive tug, she bridged the gap and let her lips fall onto his. 

Draco emitted a small, surprised sound before relaxing and melting into the kiss. His lips were warm, and soft, and Hermione grinned when she felt one of his hands cupping her neck and bringing them even closer together. She countered by tapping the tip of her tongue against his upper lips, and he opened his mouth, letting her in. Hermione had no idea if it was him or her moaning when their tongues met. She threw herself into the snogging with everything she had, so when he gently slowed down much later, she was sitting on his lap with no memory of having climbed up there. 

“So?” Draco asked, his eyes wide and skin flushed. 

“I have no idea if it helped cancel the magnetic effect, but… I definitely like kissing you.” 

He blinked, processing her words. “Merlin, I hoped you’d say that.” 

She giggled but was quickly resuming to sighing and moaning when Draco pulled her close again.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the final chapter/summary of this story. I am sorry I haven't updated it in the weekly schedule like the others, but the holidays are always a bit of a black hole for me. But I want to express the immense gratitude I feel for each and every review and kudo and bookmark. 
> 
> Endless thanks to niffizzle - she taught me so much! If you haven't already, check out her stories (they're so much better than everything I could ever write, and I am not making myself small with that statement).

It was with a very firm thud that Draco slapped their parchments on Snape’s desk. Normally, Hermione would frown upon this treatment of assigned homework, but this time, she stood next to Draco and barely suppressed a grin. 

“We found a solution.” Malfoy smiled triumphantly. “Take a look at it.” 

Indeed, Professor Snape unfolded the first roll. Hermione’s, as she recognised from the narrow space between the lines, even against the light. 

“What do these blacked out parts mean? They seem to become more frequent the further the essay progresses,” Snape inquired.

Hermione was only too happy to explain. “Oh, the black bars? They occur when the content refers to occurences of a nature that is considered private. An updated Filter Charm of my own design, if I can proudly say so.” 

Snape, judging by his increasingly raised eyebrows, understood alright. He unscrolled the rest of Hermione’s essay, eyes widening in something akin to shock as he saw how practically the entire text was blacked out. “Your research was pretty intensive, I gather.” 

“It’s not so much the research. It’s the joy of experimenting with the magic given to us,” Draco commented, his voice such a perfect drawl that Hermione felt her own magic prickling in excitement. 

“Well, it’s time to continue our lesson, don’t you think?” Hermione threw in, tugging at Draco’s hand. 

“Obviously.” 

The sound Snape made was something between a grumpy cat and a scandalised old lady. 

Hermione pulled Draco into the potions cabinet where he pressed her against the nearest shelf. Her lips captured his, and he kissed her back as feverently. A few moments into their snogging, someone knocked against the — this time, warded — door. 

“Oi, there are other students in need of… Something!” 

“Get lost, Ron!” 

“Tell Pansy to use the broom closet for ‘something’ because this place is too crowded already!” Draco added, his forehead resting comfortably against Hermione’s breastbone. 

“Where was I?” he asked, raising his head again, and his eyes relit the fire within Hermione’s core. 

An entirely different kind of pull. 

She used her own body to change their positions so that it was now him that was pinned against the shelf. 

Draco groaned, submitting himself to her as she nipped the sensitive skin at the side of his neck. “You were following my lead.” 

He grinded his hips against her in response so she could feel his reaction. “Just as you are following mine.” 

From then on, a verbal response was impossible to her. Not that it was needed. 

Of course, Hermione and Draco still pushed against each other. 

Forward. Against each other. To the best and to the worst. 

But they always returned to the pull. To synchronicity in the chaos. To draw power from the conflict. 

A conflict that was a discourse and not a fight.


End file.
